


Can't Start a Fire Without a Spark

by quill_and_paper



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, NSFW, Oneshot, Red Romance, There's a plot I promise, chasing instincts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quill_and_paper/pseuds/quill_and_paper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Speeding through space on a meteor is intensely fucking <em>boring.</em> It's boring as all hell, and with everyone else left to their own devices, Karkat is really the only viable option for a prank. He's being grouchy and closed off as per usual, but an Amazing Egbert Prank is decently high up on the list of "things that will make Karkat flip his shit."</p>
<p>Shaving cream is really explosive.</p>
<p>And now you're being chased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Start a Fire Without a Spark

**Author's Note:**

> My attempt at a sort of 'John annoys Karkat and takes off, and Karkat instinctually chases him down. Queue sloppy makeouts and touching.' type thing. Enjoy~

It's been months in the veil- months in the veil spent doing both nothing and everything under the nonexistent sun like the insanely productive gods they rightly were.

Now that they'd completed the game it was up to the humans and trolls to jointly set up the new universe, get to it without further bloodshed, and hopefully keep fate from taking a giant vibrating dildo and fucking them all in the ass for the third time.

It's hard creating a universe. It's hard and nobody understands. Literally.

"Argh, what the fuck IS this fucking chute waste?"

"Fuck if I know. Try hitting it."

_Bang! Smash!_

"Dude! Guys! Come on, you could end up giving them legs on their heads or something!"

"That's why we only try to do this shit when _Sollux_ is awake. How the fucking hell does he make any sense of all this garbage?"

Karkat grumbles and curses under his breath as he mashes keys on the HIGGS BOSENTOP indiscriminately. Dave huffs out an indifferent breath. John frowns and hopes whatever the hell Karkat just coded didn't monumentally fuck up whatever poor species it had been aimed toward.

"I don't know. And I don't care, because I'm hungry. I'm gonna go alchemize some pancakes. Any of you game?"

"Sure."

"Well if you're offering to play housewife, get me one of those burgers you made last night instead."

"I'll be extra sure to spit in it just for you, _gatito_."

Dave sashays out of the room with a middle finger and click of alchemized castanets in the most ironic manner possible- how bored do you even have to _be_ to make Spanish dancing hand clickers and then _actually use them_ , you wonder- and you can practically feel Karkat's eyeroll even though his attention is still on the vague number strings scrolling across the screen.

You wonder if Dave's all-encompassing grasp on irony is slipping- because that was a bit of a stretch, even for him. You're all getting progressively fidgety with the imminent arrival at the new universe your teams aren't even done creating yet.

"He called you a kitten. In case you didn't know."

"Good for him. Remind me to carve an honorary statue from solid gold in eternal memory of his absolutely sick burns later on, and then I'll piss all over it. 'I'd like to thank the academy for this piss award. I know I've been a total raving douchelicker, and I definitely deserve this.'"

You watch the tense lines of his alien shoulderblades as he shifts. The muscles stretch and rearrange in a way you've never gotten over it’s so strange. You've long since gotten over his ability to take a subject as innocuous as dinner or the time of day and turn it into a scathing, drawn out, brutally insulting rant though. In fact, you think they're sometimes pretty funny and creative!

But right now he's just being stubborn and dumb. Like, more than usual.

"Just give up, man. As far as all-knowing gods go, we don't really fit the bill. Let's play yahtzee or whatever instead until Sollux gets up."

Karkat tilts his head around, and the bright red irises still manage to catch you by surprise as he gives you a look somewhere between disturbed and flat.

"I would rather shove a culling fork up my nook than play whatever a yahtzee is. In fact, yahtzee sounds so ridiculously idiotic, I'm pretty sure just the mention of its name has created an irreparable void of stupid between my ears, and that void is ever-expanding to create a universe of morons. As we speak the resident fools are burgeoning to life, banging sticks on trees and shouting prayers to their great god Yahtzee. Fuck off John."

You regard him as he hunches over the HIGGS BOSENTOP again, still shrugging off the afterimage of where his glowing eyes were a millisecond ago. Even if the color bleeding into the cornea betrayed his blood color now, it hardly mattered. That was a plus to winning the game- a lot of shit just _really didn't matter_ in comparison to the dumptruck of fuckery that had been their sessions.

They'd been creating their new universe and ironing out the kinks in their respective old ones' for a long time though, and John would be lying if he said he wasn't a little bit stir crazy by now!

"But Karkaaaaaaaat, I'm bored!" Eight verbal a's. Just to tick him off that tiny extra bit.

"So go run with Kanaya's chainsaw for all I give a flying bulge fondling fuck."

He really is no fun sometimes.

You pout and observe him some more, because honestly, what else is there to do?

He's changed a lot. From the moment you touched down on the meteor with Jade, Rose, Dave, and an entire clunky alchemiter, he's acted the same; loud, rude, and angry. Fast forward a few lazy months (you think? Time is kind of subjective without a sun or moon.) and the changes are subtle but there.

For one, he makes you a little _uncomfortable_ now. When you'd all first met in a pile of brohugging splendor, he'd reminded you of a cat having an eternally bad day. He'd been short and furious and hissing expletives while clawing out of your enthusiastic friendleader embrace, and you'd dared to smoosh his cheeks playfully before he managed to break free.

You're pretty sure if you tried that now you'd be fucked ten ways from Sunday. Because he's gotten taller (a little) stronger (a lot) and... _smoother_ , somehow. If it was possible for something to be all sharp edges and pointy bits while also being sleek and gracefully silent, Karkat pulled it off with aplomb.

Sure, all the trolls were losing their teen gangly awkwardness and growing into their bodies with coordination the humans could never hope to match, but Karkat caught his attention like the others never did.

Sollux was sinewy and tall, kanaya was graceful and rhythmic. Feferi was regal and poised, Equius was proud and solid. Nepeta was slinky and agile... but Karkat was _dangerous_ , somehow.

Dangerous how he could move silently and ask a question into your ear from a foot away, and then have the indecency to look offended when you squawked and windy thing-ed yourself up a few feet in the air.

Dangerous how he smiled- usually more of a smirk, but still- and his serrated teeth gleamed insinuatingly.

Dangerous how he was all lean muscle and raw strength, able to pick you up like a sack of potatoes and having done so on multiple occasions.

Dangerous like a predator which, you guessed, trolls kind of were. And, you also guessed, something in your squishy human body looked at the defined muscles and sharp canines and slitted eyes and went "Wow. This is probably a thing I should not be trying to fuck with." on some instinctive level because whenever he was actually pissed enough to vocalize a rumbling growl, the hair stood up on the back of your neck.

And you're pretty sure he knew it, because he would always take it down a few notches and glance worryingly at you even if you were the source of his agitation.

It was like dicking around with a covered pot of boiling water. You _knew_ it was boiling from the way steam seeped from under the lid and could hear the muffled bubbling, but you just _had_ to take the top off and check, getting yourself a face full of scalding air in the process.

Karkat was a similar dangerous compulsion, and you were aware you deliberately needled him just to get the rare rippling snarl or growl or shine of bared fangs. Your logic went something along the lines of "If you could fuck with a bear knowing it wouldn't maul you beyond identification, you totally would, wouldn't you? Don't even lie."

You latently realize that, wow, that was incredibly stupid. It didn't stop you from squirting Karkat with a bowtie or tossing cakes in his face or tripping him when he walked by, though.

Yes, you're god tier. Yes, you could fly away or blow him out an airlock. Yes, you could pin him if you used the windy thing, and you frequently did. But he always snarls _"load gaping cheater!!!"_ in frustrated rage during your mutual PALHONCHO WRESTLING MATCHES often incited by retarded things like strifes, or nicknames, or filling your prankster gambit at his expense.

And the feral responses at your antics always seem to get you... excited.

This is going to be one of those times, you think. Contained within your sylladex is:

One (1) can of shaving cream  
One (1) packet of Betty Crocker rainbow cake sprinkles  
Several (upwards of 10) of those tiny cracking firework things that look like little paper mice, great for startling trolls with excellent hearing  
And one (1) party popper you've deliberately been saving to use in conjunction with other amusing prankster items.

You're not looking for something elaborate. You're just bored, and really really _really_ want to fuck with Karkat because _god it is always so easy and hilarious_. He never saw it coming.

Ten minutes, a small explosion, and an enraged scream later, and you are gleefully _running for your life_ down a random corridor.

Heh, you knew shaving cream could explode and all, but it was only a single can! God, the beautiful _trajectory_ of that mangrit supplying toiletry! You would pretend a chorus of angels were singing hymns to your totally awesome prank if you weren't too busy getting your ass out of dodge.

Because Karkat is catching up.

You can barely hear him he's so quiet and furious, only a scrape of claws around sharp turns and ruffling of his overlarge black sweater. You thought he'd gotten rid of that thing- had been counting on it, actually, as your means of escape.

But he'd reacted lightning fast. Within seconds his shirt was swapped out for the sweater in his sylladex, and you were letting out this high pitched nervous giggle Strider would have held over your head _forever_ if he'd heard it.

One look at Karkat's bared teeth, and you were gone like the wind.

And now here you were. Being pursued through an enormous meteor by a seriously irked troll. A place nobody would hear you scream and would probably take at least a month to find your mangled corpse.

You really hoped it wouldn't have decayed too much by then. But, with any luck, Karkat will just tackle you and scratch and punch at you a little with increasingly unique anger monologues. With minimal flesh tearing or bones snapping, you hope.

Your lungs are burning and your breath is coming in short gasps as you tear through a room with whatever dilapidated old machinery littered on the floor. For a brief, beautiful instant you are Nick Cage from _National Treasure_ running through a downtown city trying to escape the band of thugs after you and your stolen historical artifact. Hell yes. Hell fucking yes.

Oh _shit!_ Hell fucking no!

Nicolas Cage wouldn't have tripped so uncooly over a stray wire and done a faceplant into the floor! Your few seconds of hardcore badass-ery are over. You are back to being a floundering, frantic, totally fucked teenager-god. It is you.

You're on your feet again with a mad scramble for purchase against the smooth floor and you dare a look behind you.

It's dark and murky, but you'd never mistake the gold and red eyes that watched you intently from a few yards away. You were still panting like a fool and wobbily standing, but what little you could make out of Karkat was coiled like a spring and shaking like he was wound too tight. Wound too tight and ready to pounce, bursting forward at you again the instant you took off.

You straightened up warily and watched with shittily concealed interest as your movement made him jerk forward an inch. He halted and you swore, you _swore_ you saw him pass his tongue over his black lips quickly. Your intakes of air sounded too loud in the space, and your pulse beat in your ears and chest. Your stomach was working itself into knots at his gaze. You couldn't look away, pinned to the spot by those molten irises.

A warning snarl sounded out- _run already Egderp don't make this easy for me_ \- and you bolted for the closest exit.

This chase was turning into something else. Something of a carnal game, you thought. Sure, you'd still probably get your ass handed to you on a silver platter in the traditional manner when all was said and done, but right now there was an electricity in the air distinctly different from all the other times he'd chased you or you'd practiced strifing on the rooftops together.

The sensation crackled along your skin and down your spine. _Anticipation_.

Your legs burned and your lungs ached like you'd never get enough oxygen into them again, and the irony of the Heir of Breath being unable to catch his breath flew over your head like one of Rose's yarn balls as you ploughed into another room.

Normally you'd have flown your happy ass right the fuck out of there by now. Flown the coop, left the nest, scattered like dust in the wind, whatever. This was a twisted kind of _fun_ though; you'd never seen Karkat this insanely riled up before, and you weren't above pushing the envelope a little farther.

But really, you were about at the end of your rope. Trollish buzzsaw of anger behind you or not, you didn't have much fuel left and could feel yourself slowing and stumbling.

And through the haze of sucking in air and doubling over with your hands on your knees, you waved an arm in the general direction you knew Karkat was lurking and surrendered.

You might have imagined the disappointed whine that eked out of the darkness. You were too busy trying not to barf.

You pushed back the black ringing your vision and dragged your five hundred pound cement legs to the closest wall to lean against. You were worn out but felt _great_ somehow, like that shot of adrenaline was a flash of life into your system after so long of low key brawls and lounging around. Blood hummed through your veins and you felt your heart thudding behind your ribs in a staccato drumroll.

In out. In out. Shh. Only breathing now. Otherwise you'll keel over, which would definitely ruin your reputation as a powerful hammer-wielding badass.

Karkat is still here, of course, watching this ridiculous display of a human suffering from a total loss of stamina. You bet he thinks it’s funny. He's probably snickering to himself because you're a heaving mess, and he's barely winded.

You look up to confirm this, and woah, how'd he get so close to you so fast? He's not really going to tackle you to the ground and start swearing before you've caught your breath, right?

He licks his lips again and your eyes are drawn to the movement. You don't look away as your gasps die down into manageable puffs, watching him slide closer. Hah, he sure is being weird about catching you this time!

And it sure is weird how you are weirdly turned on by this? You were pretty sure, last time you checked, not that anybody's keeping tabs or anything, that you didn't find imminent death/pain arousing in any way?

You didn't go around popping tents when you were smashing up imps or facing down Jack. Ha, that would have been so weird.

Even weirder than how Karkat was barely a foot away now and still hadn't said a word. He was just watching you with this stricken expression like he'd realized something insanely important, and had been rendered speechless. Which, gosh, was kind of amazing because whenever Karkat didn't have anything of substance to say, he tended to fill it with inappropriate language.

Total silence from him was pretty unnerving.

Jeez, so was the way he was still coming closer even though your personal space bubble had been burst a whole entire foot ago. You wanted to laugh his uncomfortably focused stare off or make an ill-timed joke to diffuse the tension. But for some reason you felt the tentative silence was better, in a way.

Your stomach was still in an inexplicable knot, and it only tightened as Karkat smothered the beginnings of a growl and placed his palms on opposite sides of your head. He was looking at you kinda funny, and you were pretty sure you just saw a ripple pass through him like a stretching cat when you gulped uneasily. His eyes ratcheted to your neck at the motion.

Your throat felt insanely dry. You were positive you had the Sahara beat hands-down right now. That desert didn't have shit on you and your sandpaper windpipe.

"Uh..."

Was the brilliance you managed. Any combination of words in the entire English lexicon that could result in a joke or an apology or something _coherent_ at least, and you come up with "uh." If you had the HIGGS BOSENTOP with you right now and knew how to use it, you'd create a Waterfall of Eloquency in the new universe. You would then code a Rickety Barrel of Shame, and send yourself down it the second you arrived.

You are mentally rambling. You are mentally rambling because Karkat is _way_ too close to your face and is still looking at you really intensely. Way too intensely to just be fellow friendleader vibes.

"Sooo... you got me."

You try again, testing the waters as an odd tingling darts over your skin. Karkat looks nonplussed at your attempts at casual conversation and ignores you as he leans forward.

His teeth are at your neck now, you can feel the jagged points making a series of indents in your flesh, and for a few seconds you are legitimately scared he's going to take a chunk out of you and leave you bleeding in a dusty old room in the middle of deep space.

Maybe he could tell what you were just thinking, because you feel a smirk against your skin and instead of a sawing bite you get a featherlight kiss against your carotid artery.

Damn. That's insanely hot, and you feel heat go directly south.

"Karkat. Hey."

Your next ploy to get his attention fails even more miserably than the first and gets you a rumbly "Shut up, Egbert." for your efforts. Not that you're complaining, because holy god that was really rough and strained sounding and made you take another careful swallow.

Only a few seconds have passed, you're positive, but it feels like an eternity jam packed into the ghost of a fleeting instant in time. Only a few seconds that feel like neverending years as Karkat's mouth and fangs move from your neck up a ways to the indent below the end of your jaw and in front of your ear, and he nips and sucks at the spot roughly.

He's putting the same amount of attention and care into this that he does everything, some remaining part of your brain notices. He's still bracing his weight off you with one arm, but he's slipping forward and fitting your bodies together anxiously. His free hand is hovering a scant inch above your shoulder, and you watch it from the corner of your eye like an out-of-body experience as it shakes uncertainly.

He's afraid you'll shove him away. He's afraid you'll push him off and treat him like a pariah for this, you can _feel_ it in the way he's shuddering slightly. He's so naturally deadly and dominant and aggressive and yet here he is, scared to touch you, and you're caught in an incredibly awkward limbo of finding it both adorable and sexy.

Your own words- well, letters from a pesterlog, really- come back to you from... damn, what was that, like four years ago now? Was he really this bent out of shape over something 13 year old you said before your world had been obliterated? He wasn't the only one that had changed.

Besides. Being stuck on a rock with three other members of your species- one spoken for and the other your sister- and several aliens with loose definitions of "sexuality" at best did wonders to force a person to consider other options.

Not that you were being forced into this. Hell no. Fuck no. Karkat's teeth pressing at your pulse point with just enough pressure to break skin only a smidge and send a bit of blood spreading across his tongue was _wow holy shit amazing._

You wondered what switch you'd flipped to get him to go from "tear John Egbert's shitty little head off" to "have sloppy makeouts with John Egbert against the wall of a room so abandoned it wouldn't show up on a map". Another weird troll thing, most likely. Chase down your prey and instead of killing it, release sexual tension with it? God trolls are weird.

God trolls are weird and oh god their tongues are great, you decide. A little rough and not unlike yours, but different enough to make you want him to do other things with it. You nudge his head up with your shoulder and hope he gets the message.

He does, but his kiss is so hilariously hesitant and gentle you know you're going to have to encourage this along a bit. Not much, just to the point where he knows you are a-okay with being ravished.

You move a little too fast when pushing your tongue between his lips, and feel coppery blood leak out from a slice one of his teeth gouges in the side. Your bad, you silently reassure him with a hand on his hip, moving the kiss along like it was no big deal. (Ok, it stung a little. Ouch.)

You let him take over upstairs- he's 110% focused on not making a butcher's shop of your mouth after that first slip up anyway- and place a second hand on his waist carefully. You knead the hipbones you can feel through his jeans wonderingly, tracing the outline in as far as you can go before it crosses any lines. Trolls were fucking _knobby_. Or at least, this one was. You didn't go around feeling up trolls left and right or anything. That would be even more strange than all of this put together.

Karkat gives in and gets over himself after a few more seconds of you eagerly responding, and his hands flash from their respective uncertain places on the wall and above your shoulder to around your back. You're pulled flush against him with an _oof_ , and certain parts grind together that make you feel like the surface of the sun.

You cling to him and push back immediately, and you really hope in the back of your mind you don't seem too desperate. You're kind of sick of just your hand on long nights though. Whatever piddly nonsense that was pales in comparison to just _this_ , this grinding through layers of clothes, and you're pretty sure going back would suck.

Neither of you are experienced with this at all and it's so mutually fumbly and uncertain it’s almost cute. You've seen enough movies, though. You know how it's supposed to work in principle, and even though, haha oh jesus, your current partner was pretty much _an alien_ , it didn't leave you completely in the dark. You had this. You totally had this.

Karkat takes his mouth from yours delicately and thumps his head down on your shoulder with a quiet groan. He's rocking his hips against your own, and you feel a wordless jumble of noise building up in your throat too at the motions.

His arms come around you and crush you in a hug, and you swear you feel him shaking. Is he seriously still worried? You're gonna have to set him damn straight this time to make sure-

"Eg- John. Stop me now or I'm going to keep going."

"Ok."

He looks at you through thick black bangs, and you sense frustration rush through him. "John I'm fucking serious here, I mean it. Don't jerk me around right now. I..." You feel a delicious shudder wrack him as he takes a steadying breath. "If you want me to stop you need to use your words and tell me. Now."

He's talking to you like you're brain dead. You're not stupid, no matter how much everyone shakes their head at some of the stuff you sometimes say- you know he really is trembling on the edge and it amazes you he even has the presence of mind to ask for permission first to pretty much _fuck you senseless._

"Heheh, hell no."

It's like putting a crack in a dam, and before the words are even fully out of your mouth, you're being flooded.

He's everywhere at once, all over you and no longer treating you like a fine china set, and you were an _idiot_ if you thought you'd be able to keep up with whatever is driving him right now. You do not fucking have this. Apparently, he does.

It's all you can do to stay standing as he proceeds the aforementioned ravishing. His mouth is on every sensitive spot you never knew you had- the hollow of your throat, above your collarbone, the back of your neck- and his hands are feeling up every square inch they can get to.

He pulls your shirt up with an irritated snarl, and you notice that hazy gleam is back in his dilated eyes before he grabs a fistful of skin and muscle on your back and kneads almost painfully. He's mapping you out, grabbing every inch of you, and he's being uncharacteristically rough with you. Your strife-sore back muscles appreciate the assault at least, and you feel him work some knots loose until the tender moment is gone and he's back to shoving you against the wall and rutting up against you like an animal.

It's unbelievably hot, being pushed around like this and ground into with little say in the matter. You wouldn't want it this way all the time, but as far as first times go, it’s wiping any awkward pauses in action right off the table. You're insanely grateful for that, because if it were up to you, you'd still be over analyzing that sloppy kiss. This way, your brain is running solely on _"fuck yes fuck yes_ fuck _yes."_

You can't help it- you let a quiet moan past your lips. You hear a growl in your ear and feel it vibrate through Karkat's chest, and your shirt is fucking _gone_ within seconds. Your glasses clatter to the floor with it, but the troll is so up in your theoretical grill it hardly matters.

He's back on you immediately, hands grabbing your waist and claws digging in, and trailing fiery kisses and bites down your chest as you squirm. You feel like a live wire, frayed at the ends, current jumping erratically through your body. It's a heady mixture, the instinctive fear from Karkat's growl and the desire from his body touching yours.

It's a heady mixture and you feel your pants pulling too tight at the blood still rushing south.

He's pressed heavy against you, making it hard to breathe, and you feel the metal dig into your shoulderblades every time Karkat shoves his hips against you. He's incredibly warm like someone just coming in from lying in the sun all day, and you reach around and grab a generous handful of ass without warning.

Your gay meter is flying off the fucking charts at light speed. The scientists studying those readings are cleaning off their fogged up glasses and muttering to themselves "Oh my. This is definitely not a heterosexual thing that is happening." Dissertations are being written by bleary college students about readings so insane the little orange needle on their measuring devices twiddled so hard it flung itself away into a wall. This is so amazing the amount of shits you gave totaled a massive, awe-inspiring zero.

Your mind runs on stupidly and Karkat whines out another reedy noise in the back of his throat as his hands fall lower, over your chest, over your stomach, over your hips, over.... _oh._

Karkat must have felt you twitch when he dragged a hand over your front searchingly, because he's back there faster than you can warn him _"dear god_ no _claws."_ He's palming you through your godly pajama pant things, and this is it you think, you are at the point of no return parked right beside him.

"How many creepy troll pornos did you even watch to get this good, fuck, _Karkat_..."

He swats at you absently in retaliation. He's far too busy to give a verbose response.

Your newfound lust makes you a little braver, and you tear Karkat's giant puffy sweater off him before he can _completely_ turn you to mush. Mother of god his chest is _nice_. There's no nipples- why the fuck would trolls have them anyway if they didn't directly have kids- but he still has some impressively sculpted pectorals. Probably from being a hardcore threshecutioner and swinging around sickles all the time.

_Nice._

You let him know this, and you're sure he appreciates your appreciation, because a cascading rumble starts up in his chest and he sort of butts his head against your shoulder while his hands work.

He's back to being hesitant, but now you're sure it’s just because he has no personal experience with how the hell humans worked below the belt. It's almost cute how he clearly wants to keep things going but doesn't want to monumentally fuck up with you. It makes this feel more important, more intimate. Less 'fucking-in-a-hallway' sort of impersonal.

He gives a shit even if getting him to admit it is next to impossible.

"Johnnn."

His plaintive murmur brings you down from cloud nine enough to see you've been jammed up against a wall being fondled for the past three minutes (the last one with his hand actually _in_ your pants fuck fuck fuck) and the only indication you've given him came in the form of sharp gasps and tiny whines. How selfish of you, even if it had been awesome. You apologetically make out with him some more.

You also blunderingly dip your own hand below his waistband and blindly feel around because you too have no idea what in holy hell you are doing. Something about a bulge and a nook, or whatever? As long as you find at least one of those things you think you'll be alright?

You keep sliding your fingers lower until you find what you guess (hope) is his nook and slip one in, wincing to yourself because if you just violated some weird troll custom and did the wrong thing because trolls didn't come with _instruction manuals_ and now you had to go kill a person to have your transgression forgiven you were going to-

Oh. _Oh_. Okay. Karkat is hissing into your mouth, and pushing down on your hand, and making all sorts of weird high pitched sounds, and you give yourself an enormous mental fist bunp because you've reduced him to sagging against you incoherently and you've barely done anything. You add another finger and wiggle them around eagerly, drawing a keening noise from his lips as you marvel at the hot, slick tightness of it all.

Something _is_ bothering you though.

"I thought trolls had, uh, more going on downtown than just this."

Awful wording aside, Karkat is reluctant to stop kissing you enough to answer. When he does, it’s oddly quiet and apprehensive. The claws of his hand flex against their place on your chest like pinpricks and the other hand stroking your dick slows.

"Yeah, I've got it... away at the moment. Barely."

'Away at the moment.' What, like his weird troll anatomy put in a PTO request at the office and won't be back till Monday? Fuck no, you are having none of that self-conscious niggling here.

"Do you think I'm going to scream and catch on fire? I'm not gonna reenact the Hindenburg just because you're a little different. Ollie outie, man. Come on."

He looks almost _more_ unwilling now, and you smother your face against his cheek with the first groan of the night you haven't completely tried to squash. You're trying to boost his self confidence here, but he's still got his fingers wrapped around you like a firebrand and son of a _bitch_ is it ever distracting.

"I promise."

He mumbles something akin to 'fuck everything, whatever.' and you feel his bulge emerge from some space above his nook and eagerly wrap around your wrist. Regardless of what his dick thing is doing, he's still high-strung; he's clutching you a little too hard and not making eye contact.

It is definitely weird as shit. But you do not burst into flames, and you discover he makes a whole host of other fascinating noises when you twist your fingers around it like _this_ \- ohhh my gog John holy shit holy _shit_ \- or tug at it like _this_ \- fuck fuck fuck! Jesus fucking... _fuck!_

Karkat is wonderfully vocal.

"Nngh, John!"

You feel like lava. And clouds. And light. And everything else cliché in the universe all at once, because Karkat has picked up a steady rhythm on you and you are close to bursting so close _so close_. You know what's happening here is no different from what each of you do alone, but this time its _Karkat_ pressing into you and pumping you, and he's making these _sounds_ , and he's so different and beautiful and just _wow_. It doesn't even matter that you're half undressed each because you're both so high and close that stopping to change methods sounds like a terrible idea because _this is working perfectly_ even if the mechanics are hindered a bit by clothes.

Karkat is maybe an inch shorter than you, but he's possessing you entirely because he caught you and you're fucking _his_ now. He's got you pressed against a wall taking what he gives, and golly you could not possibly be more ok with that. He's kept up a steady growl punctuated by snarls and lightly clawing your biceps, and you feel it when he shakes violently and his control snaps and he bites down on your clavicle.

You yelp and Karkat lets up instantly, but you know the noise gets to him because he moans loudly into your shoulder and shoves a nubby horn into your jaw with a whimper. The sound seeps in your bones and coils in your abdomen and you feel that familiar building spark in your groin and you clutch at him because he's all you can think, all you can breathe, all you can _feel_ right now.

You crack an eye open and look at the quivering troll pinning you. His dusky grey skin blends in with the unlit room, but his eyes are flashes of ember in the dark that stand out in stark contrast. He's groaning and pushing at your hand and the clang of a bucket being ejected from his sylladex makes you groan in turn because you know what that means, and you're awfully near being done too, inexperienced boy skylark that you are.

He's twisting and pulling and stroking you and not letting up; you shout as liquid fire spreads through your body, and grab his bulge with one hand and jam the fingers of your other up his nook and twist and curl them roughly, wrenching muffled screams from him. Your breathing is hard again and so is his- you feel it blow against your bare skin in rapid exhalations.

"Gghhh... _John_...!"

Karkat cries and comes, filling the pail impressively. You feel him shuddering and letting out sobs from the aftershocks, and his claws let up their clenching grip on your hip. You barely get to watch the show because a second later a kiss on the bite he'd just made in your shoulder has you leaping off the cliff right behind him, and you almost forget to have the decency to avoid shooting all over his jeans.

You ride out your orgasm with twitches and gasps, and have to shoo his hand off when it’s become too sensitive to endure much more grabbing. He doesn't seem offended and simply wipes his hand on your pants- the asshole- and loops his arm around your neck and presses your foreheads together.

You melt into the embrace contently, ignoring the silence and what could be said in favor of soaking up Karkat's heat and idly running your own hands over his back in loose circles after wiping your hands off on _his_ jeans (ha _ha_. Take that.)

You'd never noticed how tense he always was, how unbelievably stiffly he'd always carried himself. He was like a bundle of overstressed steel cables, and holding him close all loose and pliant was a wonder. He was soft and relaxed here, not severe and serious like the fate of everything depended on him not screwing up in a flaming ball of failure.

He sighs so quietly you feel it against your chest more than you hear it, and you pull him even closer like if you could just get close enough you could squeeze together through osmosis. Just take him in, his smell, his flickering warmth, his even calming breathing. His claws are running through your hair slowly, petting at the wild strands reverently, and everything just feels so good and comfortable you could die.

Your pants are still unzipped and shoved down your hips a ways, and you mumble something wordless to Karkat to get him to let go of you so you can fix the issue. He grouses back also without any fully formed words, but lets you go just enough to fix both your pants with a little wiggling and puffy laughs that _"Karkat, you're still in the way, let go a sec. Hah, come on."_

Instantly you're back against his chest. A clatter of some sort erupts behind Karkat, and you lazily open an eyelid to observe over his shoulder.

There's a fucking _pile_ there. You're about to object, but you squint harder and see the majority of the pile is composed of random soft shit- spare shirts (the little shit. You never had a chance.), a couple of those disturbing smuppets, some scalemates, an actual blanket, etc.

You have no fucking idea why he was hoarding all this dump in his sylladex, it literally serves no active purpose. You're about to ask, but the bucket between your feet is subtly logged and Karkat is dragging you towards the pile before your sluggish brain can figure out how to politely phrase "what the fuck is your deal, your sylladex is like a black hole."

You flop down into it and frankly a bed would be way more ideal, but fuck no are you going to _walk_ all the way back to your room. If you could even find it. Karkat makes a weird chirping noise and twines himself around you like a weed, and you let him because he's warm like a kitten and that noise was so adorable you felt your mangrit meter take a serious blow to the balls.

He starts up a strange rumbling purr and tucks his head under your chin. His horn nubs jab into the underside of your jaw a little, but it’s a negligible price to pay. It's worth it, having him so drowsy and still and curled up with you in a pile of random junk. But wait… oh shit.

"What about the pancakes?"

"Oh my fucking god. Here we are in a pile of plush rumps, clothes, and dragons, after... that," heh, you've never heard Karkat fumble a phrase so bad "and the only thing on your nonexistent speck of a thinkpan is Dave fucking Strider's cheaply alchemized pancakes? Well fucking tickle me pink Egbert, if that isn't so adorable. I'm so tickled I think the Pillsbury grub troll is going to press charges for stealing his image. I think this is going to end in a horrible fuckstorm of a legal battle, and Terezi will absolutely get her rocks off from all the justice being flung around like piles of shit, and when I'm broke and destitute from the trial I'll have you to thank for such an egregiously stupid affair. I even bet that-"

Well. That's enough of that.

You silence him with a kiss before the already terrible metaphor can get any farther away from him, and he breaks off into spluttering but leaves well enough alone. You maybe imagine the red dusting the tips of his ears, but don't bother to call him out on it.

You're fine with just kissing him, and kissing him, and kissing him. And so is he.

An arm sneaks around your back and you think, damn. You should prank him and run more often.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this came out alright. Drop me a Kudos if you liked it! Thanks for reading. c:


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